Take The Shot
by ScoreCounter
Summary: Causality is a concept easily turned on it's head. Clay was aware of this. Life does have it's strange niches. Apollo knew that full well. But- aren't these things to be appreciated, no matter what? Rated T/12 for death. Alludes to and discusses events from AA5.
1. Effect

**Disclaimer(S)**

The events, names and places alluded to in the following are either part of, or based upon the Ace Attorney series of videogames and related media, which belongs solely to Capcom. I claim no ownership over such. Also, this is a work of fiction. Events, names or places are not intended to resemble real life, and any similarities are coincidental.

**Take the Shot**

Apollo had naturally had plenty of time to reflect by this point- and not a second wasted.

And there I have my point. Given my choice in title, and my opening summary, connotations are already being formed within your head. I concede that assumption is a natural part of human life. But it's awfully dangerous- at least, in terms of awkward misunderstandings. As many people close to Apollo had found out by this point. Including Apollo himself…

Let's start from the beginning- Apollo's immediate apology after his accusation of Athena - immediately assuming that Athena, for want of a better word, hated him, and wanted no further association. The actuality, of course, being much simpler- he was- well, in a way, brave in Athena's eyes for doing that. I mean, she knew she wouldn't be able to return the favour. I know I wouldn't be able to pull a stunt like that.

Moving on- his immediate request for a redundancy notice. Or at least a temporary dismissal. Well, just taking a random leave of absence, especially after that courtroom fiasco, and then frightening the whole agency out of its wits, I think it's to be expected. But, Phoenix- well, he just laughed as he did in his Hobo-style clothes, and ruffled the two distinctive spikes on his head. "Theft - a house about 200 meters down from the precinct. Trial's tomorrow… Oh, and guess who is prosecuting the case?"

He strolled out of the office, smiling widely. Apollo sighed loudly. "Business as usual, I guess…" Apollo knew full well, `who` Phoenix meant. Hey, a familiar face- that wasn't Blackquill- Athena was taking on a case with him- wouldn't be a bad thing at all.

Trucy was the first to make an assumption about Apollo. Being her half-brother, she was always staring at him- even going as far as to wrestle his bracelet off of him- just to make sure he was in a - shall we say, stable state. "Hey, Polly?" She hadn't gotten as far as `brother` yet, and Apollo and herself didn't think she would. "Can I come with?" It was the day after Phoenix had saddled him with that case, and Apollo and Klavier had both briefly exchanged evidence. A clever loophole pointed out by a- well, European- technically British prosecutor stated that people involved in a trial cannot discuss a trial as to predetermine outcome- however, simply exchanging evidence, helpfully giving each its designation and location- well, apparently, that was fine. But I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes, Trucy. Apollo responded quite enthusiastically. "… I suppose so. No Mr hat, alright?"

…Well, as enthusiastic as he ever got anyways.

Klavier was also giving him a continuous careful stare as the trial went on, and making a point of voicing his concern- and demonstrating it- during every single recess. Not at all, was it that Apollo was complaining. Sometimes concern was pleasant- even if it's not needed, it's nice to know it's there when it's needed. "I'm fine…"

"Of course you are, Forehead. Wouldn't expect less from you…"

Athena was subconsciously keeping her eyes and ears open to any little changes or fluctuations –or noise, as it were. Apollo was aware of this too- though not through a bracelet, but by a bit of a proxy - once, when he was out with Athena and a friend- who was a bit of a shrink- said shrink immediately noted her long term anxiety - well, the bracelet only seems to work for flinches or twitches. Takes a professional to read emotions after all.

Perhaps what helped Apollo recover more than anything else- was help from where he didn't expect it. Namely, Simon Blackquill, and Miles Edgeworth. Whilst he was waiting for the boss to arrive, Blackquill was present to see the employee blunder in. He smiled. In a sense, it was him who managed to get Athena off the leash- in terms of the current trial, anyways- and get that little twitch off him- even though it was a little bit of a cheat in his eyes, well- it levelled the field, didn't it? And it would be foolish to deny- he had grown to admire all three of them. Apollo was slightly taken aback by the gesture, though, to begin with. The only time this guy smiled was when he was about to bring down the axe- and I do realise he IS still present. And… they talked. About Blackquill's case, about the past… about Clay… and it was just, well, different. What he needed, I suppose.

And then there was Miles. I must admit, the conversation they had was significantly more humorous, which I realise is a word no-one would associate with Edgeworth- but… well it was. That might have just been Phoenix's involvement, though- continuously making a jab at Edgeworth at every possible opportunity. About his wimping out, about his flair for the overdramatic- which Apollo immediately noticed as a bit hypocritical.

So what is this shot that Apollo is supposedly taking, after all this time, none of which had been wasted? Well… let's just compare it to what M said once- "Take the bloody shot." A few weeks- a few months had passed since the case, and here he was, on the other side of the glass of the pale room. In it, there was a shape. That's all he could be named as. Even he named himself that, he had no- form, now that they had all been stripped from him. When he saw his true face again, he wasn't sure what to say- it wasn't even remotely familiar, to himself, or anyone else. The Phantom caught Apollo's eye. "Sorrow?" The execution psychiatrist, synchronously with Athena, was definitely confused.

Perhaps stranger is the fact that Apollo wasn't. He sort of- understood why. Clay was a bit of an unfortunate, unrequired death, after all. So was Metis. It wasn't within his brief; it was just… how he had to operate. How he was trained to operate. Nonetheless, even though Apollo could forgive him - the court couldn't. So, in this occasion, in this universe, it was Apollo that echoed those words. "Take the shot." He was more than happy to do it himself before, but now his psyche and face was torn into the open, he couldn't do it himself. The only other person allowed to execute- well, the execution, stepped forwards and placed his hand, gently on the small button. Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, he depressed the button.

Firstly, there was no visible effect, other than the hiss of gas being exchanged within the room. The Phantom turned around and sat in the seat designated for him. "20 Seconds." Already his eyelids were starting to look a tad heavy- but he looked- peaceful. Ready to pass on. "40 seconds," Eyes closed, although he was still clearly alert. Although, that didn't last long. His consciousness suddenly flickered away, "One minute." He was quite clearly dying now. Apollo just left those remaining two minutes drift into darkness. `Why does everyone care so much… about me? They all knew, straight away- I was fine- well, okay with it…`

That night, Phoenix talked to him in the office. Apparently a note had appeared at the doorstep- entitled to him apparently. What was strange hoe Phoenix brought it up immediately brought it up after Apollo had asked him that question. Slowly, he opened up the note. He didn't know how it got there, but he was sure glad it had. So… Why did everyone care so much?

-JUST ASSUMING will JUST make an ASS of YOU and ME.

Or them, as it may turn out to be.-

"_Life will always work in strange circles. More fun that way."_

_**TERMINUS**_


	2. Cause

_**Disclaimers remain as noted in the previous chapter.**_

_**Taking the Shot**_

Clay had little time to think about this- there were no moments to waste. And this time, I'm not misguiding you. He'd just carried Starbuck through… Then he lay down, waiting for everyone to come over and sort out the all clear- and then… well, he felt… do I really need to explain more? The metal was obviously double faced- it wasn't just shoved in- but neither was it a surgical wound. He knew he wouldn't have too long.

But he would have awhile, at the very least. These spacesuits were, after all, designed to withhold pressure. Even if the knife penetrated the heart- which was more than likely- he would die, yes, but only from very slow blood loss- the combination of the knife plugging the wound and the pressure would sustain his blood levels for a very long time. He carefully set his face into a relaxed frown. Dreams have a real way of stabbing you in the back. Or the front in this case.

The siren was slowly getting more and more distant to his ears as he settled down. He knew emergency help wouldn't get there for quite a few minutes yet- the systems tracking his state would be fried by now, anyways. So, bottom line- five minutes- more likely four until he died? His head was spinning with images from the past year- secretly watching Apollo's trials over the last year, the years of training they supported one another through… Clay had to admit, he was slightly envious.

I mean, who wouldn't be? Sure, Apollo's supposed `dream` hadn't gone amazingly, but much better than this. That whole fiasco with the trial, having to accuse his mentor- twice, realising his childhood hero was an absolute idiot, in a sense- though that view was swiftly diluted… Clay sighed, or a close approximation thereof. Why was he acting harshly toward Apollo? _`I mean, it's not like he's gonna' like… this…`_

Ah.

It suddenly dawned on Clay that he was probably one of the only positive links to his childhood years- and that wasn't exactly a good thing to lose that close to said childhood… what the hell would happen now? Suicide? Depression? Madness? Clay almost broke down with the idea; he was allowed his moping sure- but directing it at Apollo? The smallest of teardrops started to line his right eyelid.

The siren was almost silent now… Clay's maligned heartbeat beat wildly in his years- no longer being a simple rhythm, like that produced by a metronome- Clay almost wondered out loud if the blood flow would push the knife out- no, of course not. That would be a little farfetched, now wouldn't it? His eyes were still as open as he could keep them, staring up at the strange ceiling, spread with darkness.

And then… someone turned on a light. It was… beyond strange, it was almost like- a light that shouldn't exist was turned on. The room was bathed in a dim, grey light, hiding the red flashes within it. And following that… music? A gentle, high pitched melody filled the room- slow, relaxed, but most definitely sad. To start with anyways. Slowly, whoever this mystery musician was- who obviously had no intention of trying to help Clay, so he listened- slowly, he brought the music higher and faster, and… he enthused it, somehow… And how Clay could tell it was a he was another matter entirely.

Slowly, the music and musician ground to a halt, and he placed the rounded instrument- a short stubby flute- Clay had no idea to its name- and he paced slowly towards Clay.

"What do you think? I know it's not exactly the time, but- hey. I wanted you to hear that."

Somehow, Clay found it within himself to speak. "Who…?"

"Hmm… I suppose that was rude of me, wasn't it? But that doesn't matter right now, does it? What matters is… your death. Come on. You should be able to stand up now."

Clay found his arms suddenly phasing through his suit, enabling him to push himself through it. Well, now there was only two options, Clay supposed. "Am I insane… or dead?"

"Perfectly sane, unfortunately. Now, let's sort that wound out…" The voices owner walked into his vision- he looked fairly young, almost familiar, but completely unknown- his hair was long and blue, covering his right eye. Slowly, he cast his eyes down to the point at which the knife had stabbed him, leaving an abscess in his body.

Slowly, the skin reformed, and Clay suddenly inhaled sharply, as if to refill his- now useless lungs.

"Anything else you want?" Clay looked the man solidly in the eye. He needed to ask:

"You never answered… who are you?" The man smiled.

"I'm… a friend of a friend. You'll all learn who I am eventually." As he says this, he looks **you** solidly in the eye, smirking wildly. "And the other thing?"

"What am I to do now?"

"Rest. I'll sort things out, all right? Apollo… well, you're right. He isn't going to be five stars. But I ensure he'll be fine." Clay frowned at his friend's catchphrase being used. "Sorry… I couldn't really resist. But, for now- you do trust me, right?"

Clay considered his options- well; he was – most likely – dead right now so he could either trust this random stranger - or not at all. Well, at first, it was obvious- shout down his earhole and try and find another way to resolve this. However, then, the stranger did something strange- he tugged from his back- and produced a very small feather- about three centimetres long. It was firmly placed in Clay's palm- as this was so, he saw- strange things. Things that are perhaps best not discussed. But it was the future. And Clay knew- he could trust this guy. After all, it was obvious- Apollo either did… or would.

"How about now, Terran?"

"I think… I'm fine."

"Good. Now… let's discuss a few things…"

By the way, did I mention who sent that note? One Clay Terran.

"_All lives end, all hearts are broken."_

_**Σ**_


End file.
